


slow dancing in the dark

by neyvenger (jjjat3am)



Category: Football RPF
Genre: FC Barcelona, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 13:16:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5335466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjjat3am/pseuds/neyvenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you tried to parallel their lives up to this point into one of those neat side timelines that sports show programmers like to whip up when somebody dies or ends their career, you’d realize that they have a whole lot in common. Not just the blaugrana, worn on their skin till the color eclipses the flesh or the brilliant talent, often overlooked, but a friendship too, easily earned, and forged through blood, sweat and joy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	slow dancing in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> For Rachel, on the event of her birthday.

 

If you tried to parallel their lives up to this point into one of those neat side timelines that sports show programmers like to whip up when somebody dies or ends their career, you’d realize that they have a whole lot in common. Not just the blaugrana, worn on their skin till the color eclipses the flesh or the brilliant talent, often overlooked, but a friendship too, easily earned, and forged through blood, sweat and joy.

 

Pedro Rodriguez Ledesma is born in July 1987, in Santa Cruz De Tenerife, against the backdrop of idyllic beaches and tall palm trees. A year later, in the same month, Sergio Busquets Burgos takes his first breath in the Sabadell hospital, in Catalonia.

 

Sergio has a football literately placed in his cradle, by his father, who is strangely charming in his desperation to reconcile the two things most precious in his life. Even so, his father is by far the most important figure in his adolescent life, standing tall like a giant between two iron poles in the backyard, encouraging him to shoot. Sometimes he’ll miss a save deliberately, convinced by his well-meaning wife that he should allow his child to build some self-confidence, but Sergio catches onto his game quickly, stands in the grass, trembling with all the rage his small body can bear and glares, until his father is forced to apologize with an ice cream cone. Quite a feat, since Carles Busquets endured Louis Van Gaal and his glares on a regular basis.

 

Meanwhile, Pedro grows up in paradise, chasing a ball down the sun-warmed beaches, sand permanently between his toes. He’s ten by the time someone first calls him a prodigy. Over time, those whispers grow louder. But Tenerife isn’t very big; everyone is a genius at something. The trick is to let the world know. The problem is that the world comes to Tenerife, but Tenerife doesn’t go out often to the world. Still, there’s a lucky star somewhere with Pedro’s name on it; maybe that’s what brings that one FC Barcelona scout out to Santa Cruz for work and not for a vacation. Or maybe it’s Jeffren Suarez. In any case, FC Barcelona wants him, Pedro from Santa Cruz, and he’s not one to dwell in paradise when the world is out there waiting.

 

Pedro comes to La Masia in 2004, aged 17. The first few months are hard. He struggles with fitting in, never one to be the most sociable in groups, and his mother sounds sadder and sadder whenever he speaks to her on the phone. He thinks of quitting.

 

Then, in 2005, things finally get better. He gets a roommate. Sergio walks into their shared room, full of quiet confidence and carrying three suitcases (one of which is packed entirely with food, as Pedro would later find out), raises an eyebrow when the small ball Pedro has been kicking at the wall rolls to a stop in front of his feet.

 

“You aiming to put more cracks in this place? It’s falling apart as it is,” Sergio says calmly, assessing the other boy. Usually he wouldn’t be so open about his general cynicism or criticize a place he’s been trying to get into for years, but he’s tired and hungry, because he’s missed lunch through all the travelling. Better that his new roommate learns how Sergio can be sooner rather than later. Judging by the wide-eyed look he’s got trained on him now, it might have been a little too much.

 

“I guess it’s one way to do accuracy practice,” he softens his tone deliberately. One of the beds in unoccupied, so he throws himself on it carelessly. “Which crack are we aiming at?”

 

Pedro mutely points to the vaguely star-shaped crack on the wall, hear still racing in his chest. His new roommate shrugs and scoops the ball from the floor with his foot. The only sound in the room for the next half hour is the soft thump of the ball hitting the wall.

 

“My name is Pedro,” he finally says after the half hour passes, still determined to uphold some illusion of decency.

 

“I’m Sergio,” Sergio replies, noting how Pedro’s shoulders relax just a fraction further. “Do you have another ball we can add? It’ll be harder with two.”

 

They don’t swear to be forever friends that afternoon. In fact, they hardly talk at all. But it’s the start of something.

 

 

*

 

 

In the next few weeks they become practically inseparable inside the La Masia walls. They click in training as well, warm up together when they can. Sergio mutters sarcastic comments under his breath and Pedro’s choked off laughter gets them both in trouble, more often than not. Pedro makes sure Sergio’s math homework is up to standards, and in return, Sergio always shares his seemingly endless supply of snacks.

 

On days off, they go out and explore. Sergio knows Barcelona well, the stadium best of all, because it’s where his father played. He makes a good tour guide. There’s a host of family restaurants whose owners he seems to know personally and they always feed them on discount, ruffling their hair and discussing their future as star football players.

 

He even takes Pedro to the beach, which, while not nearly as beautiful as the ones back home, is familiar and comforting enough. Pedro takes his shoes and socks off, ignoring Sergio’s incredulous stare, and runs through the rocky sand and into the waves. He gets soaked up to his knees, because he didn’t think to take of his pants first, which is a monumentally stupid idea, because it’s already early autumn in Barcelona and it’s very cold.

 

“You’re actually an idiot,” Sergio says when he comes out of the water. “The coaches will kill me if you get sick.”

 

Pedro offers him a wide gap-toothed grin in between shivers and Sergio can’t help it. He smiles back.

 

They stop at a street vendor selling clothes on their way back and Sergio buys him a pair of bright red pants, waves off Pedro’s offer to reimburse him and makes fun of him instead. They almost miss curfew.

 

“Hey, Sergio,” Pedro says, when they’re safely back in their room and a minimal amount of people have seen his new pants. “Thanks for taking me to the beach today. I miss it.”

 

Sergio looks at him, standing in the middle of their shared room, wearing a too big pair of pants and sand between his toes, grinning shyly, eyes glinting in the dim light, and feels suddenly too warm where he’d been freezing just minutes before.

 

He manages a strangled “You’re welcome,” before escaping into the bathroom.

 

 

*

 

 

It’s 2007, and La Masia is in an uproar.  _Guardiola_  the whispers echo against the stone pathways, _Guardiola_  murmured into mashed potatoes,  _Guardiola_  in the training grounds and in the rooms. Everyone is excited.

 

“He played with your father, right?” Pedro asks one day, idly watching a group of Cadets compete in a Pep Guardiola Trivia battle (a La Masia staple – it’s a weird place). “What’s he like?”

 

Sergio’s eyes go distant and he stays quiet for a little while. If you didn’t know him well, you’d think he hadn’t heard the question. Pedro knows he’s just trying to find the right words. Sergio hates being misunderstood.

 

“He’s incredible,” Sergio finally says and Pedro swings around to look at him with surprise. Those are big words of praise coming from someone as notoriously critical as Sergio. “But he’s also indescribable. You’ll have to wait and see.”

 

Pedro just snorts in return, chalks it up to Sergio being notoriously unhelpful as usual, only to be proven wrong a few days later when Pep appears in the La Masia dining hall to address them.

 

Pep looks a bit older than all the pictures Pedro has seen of him, but his eyes shine with an inner light and his words are full of conviction. He’s a football god that speaks with the words of a preacher.

 

Pedro finds himself believing every word he says.

 

When the speech ends, he turns around to look at Sergio, but the words stay on his lips when he sees the look on his face. It’s not often that anyone gets to see Sergio this open or vulnerable, eyes shining and hands clenched into fists. His walls come up when he realizes that Pedro is watching at him, but Pedro doesn’t forget the look on his face or that Pep Guardiola put it there.

 

“I’m surprised Pep ever left this place,” Pedro remarks when they’re getting ready for bed that evening. “It’s obvious that he loves Barca. And judging by the expressions in the hall today, it loves him back.”

 

Something passes over Sergio’s face, a shadow. The mood in the room changes and Pedro is left floundering in its wake.

 

“Debatable,” Sergio says, turns his face away to look at the window. “FC Barcelona doesn’t do a very good job of honoring its legends.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

So Sergio tells him. About Pep and his problems with the board, and the media. About the doping scandal and his exile and the way his surname rained down the Camp Nou stands like an insult. Then, he tells him about Carles Busquets, who warmed the bench more often than he played; a loyal hound that never complained and never spoke out if turn. Until one time he did and was thrown out on his ass, his years of service meaningless.

 

Pedro feels unsettled by his words, almost hurt by their contrast to what Guardiola said to them at dinner. Yet Sergio doesn’t speak them with any less conviction.

 

“So what’s the point then?” Pedro asks, almost petulantly. “Why are you trying so hard to succeed here if this is how you feel?”

 

Sergio shakes his head.

 

“FC Barcelona is the best club in the world,” he says it simply, like it’s a fact, and to him it may well be, “every moment you spend with this crest over your heart makes it worth it.”

 

And Pedro believes him too.

 

 

*

 

 

The next few years are a whirlwind.

 

Barcelona B earns its promotion to the second division, like Pep promised. He leaves them that summer, goes on to coach the first team, but it’s not long until Pedro and Sergio join him there.

 

They win the treble for the first time in history and then they just keep winning. The World Cup comes in 2010 and they win that too. Then the Euro in 2012.

 

In the short space of four years, they win everything there is to win in football, and they do it together.

 

There’s a moment, where the celebrations are winding down, after the triplet or the World Cup or the Euro, and they’re sitting together on the plane, with their celebrating teammates all around them. Pedro puts his head on Sergio’s shoulder to hide his grin into the cloth of his shirt and Sergio laughs softly in turn.

 

“So, was it worth it?” he asks.

 

“Every moment,” Pedro says, looks around to see if anyone’s paying them any attention, and then laces their fingers together. “You were right.”

 

“I’m always right, I thought you knew that by now.”

 

Pedro snorts, leans more heavily against his side and smiles when he feels Sergio press a kiss against his hair.

 

Around them, the party rages on.

 

 

*

 

 

The thing is, theirs was never going to be a big love story. Maybe somewhere between training and trips to the beach they stumbled onto something that was more than friendship, or maybe they didn’t. In any way you look at it, what they had was like they were; quiet and unremarkable, but fundamentally important.

 

It won’t matter if you drew a parallel between them, as long as there was a moment where their paths crossed, where you could take a ruler and draw a straight line between their names in time and call them connected. After that it didn’t matter where their paths diverged, because the most important things they did together.

 

 

*

 

 

“I thought I’d hate you when you left,” Sergio tells him.

 

They’re drinking coffee on the terrace of Pedro’s apartment, sitting on the ground because the chairs have all been packed up and put into storage. Technically, it’s not even his apartment anymore, because the lease ran out two hours ago. He has a plane to London in five.

 

“And do you?”

 

They’ve known each other for years, but sometimes Pedro can’t read Sergio at all. This is one of those times.

 

“No,” Sergio smiles. “It changes less than I thought.”

 

Pedro snorts, tries to ignore the relief he feels.

 

“Easy for you to say, I’ll have to get used to English weather! It’s already raining there and it’s still summer, how am I going to deal?”

 

“You’ll live,” Sergio laughs, “Geri did and you have twice his patience.”

 

“Probably,” Pedro shrugs and sips on his coffee. “You’ll visit me in Tenerife next summer?”

 

“I promised, didn’t I? You’ll have to take me to the beach.”

 

“I’ll even wear those red pants you bought me.”

 

“You still have those? I thought you’d have burned them by now.”

 

“Nope, they’re packed with the rest of the stuff. You know I’m sentimental.”

 

“Do you still have the ball as well? The one you were playing with when we met?”

 

“Disintegrated into dust some time ago, I’m afraid. I was really embarrassed, you know. And you were so serious.”

 

“I could tell. I didn’t make it easy on you.”

 

“Eh, you were fine. I’m glad we were put together, Busi.”

 

“Me too.”

 

They stay together like that for a while, pretending to sip on coffee that’s long since grown cold, and if they sit closer together than friends should, well, there’s no one around to notice.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Notes:  
> \- I have no idea if Busi and Pedro were roommates in La Masia. Probably not, but it works for the narrative.  
> \- Carles Busquets played as a goalkeeper for FC Barcelona between 1990–1999. He was a La Masia product too. During his playing years he was largely the second choice goalkeeper. It’s rumored that he had to leave because he got into a fight with Louis Van Gaal.  
> \- Pedro and Busi were part of the Spain NT that won the World Cup and the Euro, in 2010 and 2012.  
> \- Pedro left in summer 2015, to join Chelsea FC.


End file.
